


Closer

by slpblue



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Fluff, M/M, My First Smut, Reunion Sex, the angst is really angsty and the fluff is really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slpblue/pseuds/slpblue
Summary: Brendon feels desperate and half-insane.  Before he had lost Patrick, before he had fucked up so majorly as topush him away, he hadn't thought it was possible to feel so empty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (published) attempt at writing smut, so do be kind haha.  I actually edited this bad boy for once, so I'm very proud of how it turned out.
> 
> Also, I believe a little context is in order.  The one shot is actually part of a much bigger AU that my friend and I have talked about for hours and hours and have planned out every detail to (but haven't gotten around to writing), so if it feels like the story isn't quite formed or there are little references that don't make sense, that's why.  I feel like I pretty much explained everything though.
> 
> Anyway, enough talk!  That's not why you're here haha.  Enjoy!

 

Brendon feels desperate and half-insane. Before he had lost Patrick, before he had fucked up so majorly as to _push him away,_ he hadn't thought it was possible to feel so empty.

He's called Patrick's phone a hundred times. He hasn't answered once. But the pain of being ignored is nothing compared to the pain of _not having Patrick_. He hasn't felt this lonely in years.

Not a drop of alcohol has passed Brendon's lips since—since—

Maybe finding Patrick and trying to convince him to let him back had been a bad idea. Maybe pestering Joe until he'd admitted Patrick was staying with him was stupid. Maybe showing up without a plan but desperation thrumming in his chest like a bird fluttering helplessly at its cage was idiotic. It was worth it, though, just to see Patrick one last time, to see the momentary flash of relief across his face when he opened the door before it crumpled into anger and hurt, to talk to him, to hear his voice, even if it was only to say "goodbye Brendon" after listening to Brendon's spiel and then closing the door. And maybe Brendon had been imagining the way Patrick's voice had cracked over his name like it was something fragile.

Brendon sits at the kitchen table, nursing his cup of coffee, black. The bitterness is reflective of his life, he thinks. Life without Patrick doesn't deserve sweetness, because Patrick is everything sweet in the world.

He knocks back the last of the coffee and stands to put the mug—it was Patrick's, the one with the chip in the rim that would cut his lip if he wasn't careful and that he loved anyway, because it was one of the first things Brendon bought him, back in 2005—in the sink. When he turns back to look at the table, his phone mocks him from where it sits. It's silent, heavy with the weight of Patrick not calling.

_Maybe this time_ , Brendon thinks, unable to prevent his fingers from inching towards the device, unable to prevent them from dialing Patrick's number.

He's prepared for it to go to voicemail. He's prepared to leave a message just as desperate and heartbreaking as the last thirty. He's prepared for disappointment.

What he is not prepared for, is for Patrick to pick up.

Brendon's breath catches. "Patrick?" he whispers into the receiver, hoping it wasn't a mistake, hoping it's really him, hoping he's not imagining this. "Patrick, I—it's me. It's Bren." He swallows, waiting.

There's no reply on the other end of the line except for Patrick's shaky breathing—Brendon would recognize his breaths anywhere, has spent countless sleepless nights letting the rhythm sooth him to sleep, has listening to his lungs fill and then deflate, his ear over Patrick's heart. But this means he's there. He's listening.

"Patrick," Brendon rasps, the tightness in his chest constricting his words. "Rick, please. I'm—I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I'm—please. I miss you so much." He sinks back down into the kitchen chair. "I'll do anything to get you back, please. I—I love you. I love you so much. And I was so, so stupid, and _please,_ Patrick. Come back, come home." He's crying now, and doesn't care that Patrick can hear, doesn't care that he's being pathetic. His breaths are ragged, the death rattle of a desperate man. "I'll never do anything to hurt you again, I promise. Whatever—I'll do whatever you want. Anything. _Please._ "

There's no reply. Brendon had thought maybe—he had been hoping for something. But the line is quiet, dead. Brendon pulls the phone away from his face to see that the call has disconnected.

The bottom drops out of Brendon's stomach. He...he hung up. He fucking... _hung up_. Brendon's heart is constricting, squeezing, shrinking down to nothing. "Patrick," he whispers, hot tears streaking his cheeks.

"Brendon," comes Patrick's voice.

Brendon looks up so fast his neck pops. There, standing with his phone in one hand and his keys in the other, is Patrick. His face—he looks so sad, and so hopeful.

Brendon doesn't hesitate before he's leaping out of the chair, taking long strides to where Patrick is standing. At the last second, he pulls up short, fingers twitching in their want to hold Patrick again. "I—" He's said so many words to Patrick, over the phone and in a rush at Joe's place, but now...now that he's here, in the flesh, of his own free will, Brendon's at a loss for words. "I miss you," he finally settles on, his voice weak.

Patrick opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind and swallows instead. He takes a breath. "Brendon...you're such an _idiot._ "

Brendon blinks. Of all the things he'd been expecting, that hadn't been one of them. "I don't—" but then there isn't really time to say anything, because he's got an armful of Patrick and he's kissing him and _oh god_ he missed this. He missed him.

"I love you," Patrick says, hands cupping the sides of Brendon's face, fingers digging in almost painfully. "I love you," he breathes against Brendon's lips, exchanging breath. "I love you," he professes, the words desperate.

For a moment, Brendon is dizzy and off-balance with pure _Patrick_ , with the scent of him and the feel of him and the taste of him. But it's not long before he's saying it back, like a mantra, like a spell, like it's the only thing in the world worth saying. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Their kiss turns sloppy and desperate, their teeth clacking, more words than anything. Brendon doesn't realize he's been backing up until his back hits the table. He draws in a sharp breath of pain, and Patrick pulls just far enough away to look at him with worried eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, breathless.

Brendon nods, reaching up to touch the side of Patrick's face gingerly with his fingertips. "You're really here," he says wonderingly.

"I'm really here," Patrick agrees, soft.

"I never—I thought you weren't coming back," Brendon admits.

"I'll always come back," Patrick promises. "I'll always come back to you."

"I love you," Brendon says again, and he doesn't sound quite as broken anymore, even though he's crying again.

Patrick kisses him, gentler this time, and wipes away his tears with the pads of his thumbs. "I love you too." He gazes adoringly at Brendon's face, lips slightly parted. "You smell—you smell like you. I forgot how nice it was."

Brendon hears the unspoken meaning behind the words: _you smell like you and not like alcohol._  "I do," he agrees. "And I always will. I promise." _I'll never drink like that again_.

Patrick tilts his head to scatter kisses across Brendon's jaw. His hands grace over Brendon's back, pulling him closer, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt. Brendon feels something hot and heavy pool in his pelvis, and threads one hand up in Patrick's hair, the other wrapping around his middle, thumb slipping into the waistband of his jeans.

Patrick hisses into Brendon's mouth, hips jerking forward. "Brendon, please."

"What?" Brendon asks breathlessly. "What do you want?"

"I've been away—for so long," Patrick says, not really answering. "Too long, Bren—god, I've missed you."

Brendon hums, urging him to keep going.

"I've missed—I need—fuck, Bren, can we just go to the bedroom already?"

Brendon laughs, kissing the tip of Patrick's nose. "Yes. Yes, we can definitely do that."

On the way there it's too many clothes and too much space between them, a moment where Brendon traps Patrick against the wall and they get caught in the breathless feeling of being with each other, of hands roaming over skin and clothes falling to floor and lips pressed firmly together. And then Patrick's hand travels southward, grips at Brendon's dick, and they're moving again.

Patrick falls into bed with Brendon on top of him, wrapping his legs around him instantly and not letting go, trying to pull him as close as possible. It's the slide of their cocks against each other and Patrick's fingernails digging into Brendon's back and Brendon's mouth biting at Patrick's neck and they're—

"Too far away," Patrick groans.

Brendon kisses him again. "I'm right here, baby."

"Bren, _please_."

"What do you want?" Brendon murmurs.

"Fuck me, oh my god," Patrick whines, reaching blindly over to the nightstand where he knows there are condoms and lube, but not doing much other than smacking the alarm clock and turning it on so that some current pop anthem blares to life.

"Are you sure?" Brendon asks, stretching to turn it off. The room feels smaller and more intimate when it falls into silence. He's giving Patrick the chance to back out of this, to realize that he's made a mistake and doesn't want to come back. "Are you sure?" He doesn't want Patrick to say no, doesn't want him to leave, but if Patrick doesn't want—

"Brendon I swear to god if you don't get a condom on _right now_ I'm going to hold you down and _I'm_ going to fuck _you_ ," Patrick snaps.

Brendon smiles. There's the Patrick he loves. "Fine," he says, rolling off Patrick to open the nightstand drawer. Even though it's not even a full minute, it's too long before he's slicking up his fingers and pressing a knuckle into Patrick, pushing gently past the tight ring of muscle around his entrance. Patrick whimpers, stomach sucking in and pushing out as he gets himself to relax. Brendon crooks up his finger, pressing against his prostate, and Patrick full-on moans.

"Brendon," he gasps, hips bucking up. "Brendon. More. Please."

Brendon grins coyly, then without warning inserts a second finger. Patrick keens, legs stretching out across the bed, as Brendon finger-fucks him open.

Brendon presses a kiss to Patrick's hip, nipping lightly at the skin and then harder, until it hurts, until it bruises. "Bren, just fuck me already I swear to god," Patrick pants.

Moving up to softly kiss him again, Brendon hums his assent. They get distracted like that for a moment, and all Brendon can think is _PatrickPatrickPatrick_ and _he'sherehe'sherehe'shere_ and _lovelovelove_ , but before long they're both itching to take it farther.

Settling between Patrick's legs, Brendon quickly rolls on a condom. He lines up and then pushes in, gentle, loving, like it's the first time they're doing this all over again. Patrick gasps and hooks his legs over Brendon's waist, pulling him closer and not letting him go, until Brendon is pressed all the way in. Their skin is hot, pelvises flush against one another, and the way Patrick's lips are parted are doing sinful things to Brendon's thoughts.

"I love you," Patrick whispers.

"I love you too," Brendon says, tilting his hips up for movement, for friction. Something heavy and light at the same time tangles in his chest. "I missed you so much." It's overwhelming, the emotions, and a tear leaks out before he has the chance to register what's happening. "So much."

"I missed you too," Patrick replies, and his hands grab at Brendon's arms, tight, like if he lets go he thinks Brendon might disappear or float away.

Brendon doesn't say anything else, too lost in the feel of Patrick's skin beneath his mouth, of Patrick's ass tight and warm around him.

And then Brendon starts to thrust, Patrick moving with him. They find their rhythm again so easily. It feels like nothing has changed, feels like eternity. Patrick is the past, the present, the future, unchanging and constant and _there._ Brendon keeps his movements slow and gentle, and they both seem to be okay with that, okay with drinking each other in and letting it last as long as possible.

"Patrick," Brendon cries, feeling his orgasm starts to build deep in his gut. "God, fuck, fuck, you're so—god I love you. Perfect, perfect, _perfect._ "

"So're you," Patrick slurs, grabbing at Brendon everywhere he can, pulling him closer, _closer_. "Too far away," he says, voice yearning and needy, and Brendon gets as close as he can in that moment, pushing forward until Patrick's shoved up into the pillows and the bed actually shakes a little. Brendon is caught up in the beauty beneath him, hands roaming over all that skin and claiming it as his own.

"Brendon," Patrick says, just to be able to say it. "Brendon."

Brendon's fingers dig into Patrick's sides as he pulls almost all the way out, his hands gripping so tight he's sure to leave bruises. Patrick gasps and arches his back beneath him, and Brendon pushes in again, bottoming out, Patrick's legs wrapped around his waist and shoving him closer, and still it's not enough—Patrick is too far away, too far. He's been away for so long. He'd been afraid he'd never get this again, never get to touch his skin or run his fingers through his hair or fuck him senseless ever again.

"B-Brendon," Patrick gasps, hands gripping his arms. "B-Brendon." It's the only thing he can say. Nothing else matters. No other words are worth speaking.

Brendon leans down and snaps his hips forward, capturing Patrick's sinfully plush mouth in a kiss, and it's still not close enough—it's never close enough. He will never get enough of him.

Brendon can feel the way Patrick tightens around him, can hear his breath hitching, can feel them building up together. Brendon leans down to suck at the junction of Patrick's neck and shoulder, the collar full of chemistry he finds there.

"Please," Patrick whimpers, "Bren, please. Just—just—"

He knows what he's asking for, and now, finally, Brendon picks up the pace, until they're both breathless and needy and sweaty and shaking.

Their bodies move in tandem, conducted to be perfectly in sync, a symphony—just the two of them, writing the most beautiful of music. They're so together, so in tune, and they come together, coasting down from their high with shuddering breaths and frantic kisses and hugs that squeeze and almost hurt with their desperation.

"I love you," Brendon chokes. It's nearly overwhelming, how much he loves him. Almost too much—it's also not enough.

Patrick bites at Brendon's lip, their breath mixing together. "I love you too," he rasps, the words a promise, and a vow. He says forever in those words. He tells him "never again" and "until the end of time."

When they've both regained their sense of mind enough to realize what a sweaty sticky mess they are, Brendon drags himself out of bed and kisses Patrick quickly before tossing the condom, then padding into the bathroom and stopping up the tub. He opens the tap and pours in a generous amount of bubble bath, then heads back to Patrick, who's watching him with sleepy eyes. "I missed this too," Patrick mumbles, taking Brendon's hand and letting himself be pulled from the sheets.

Brendon draws up Patrick's hand to ghost a kiss over his knuckles. "I missed everything about you."

Patrick smiles, a little lopsided, a lot sleepy, and says a simple, "Me too."

The tub is nowhere near filled, but there's water at the bottom and steam filling the air and bubbles sudsing up the sides of the bath, so they climb in together. Patrick settles in between Brendon's legs, leaning back against his chest, as the water slowly rises around them. Brendon ducks his head to nose against Patrick's neck, breathe in the scent of him, and wraps his arms around his stomach. They stay that way for a minute or so, until the water is halfway up and bubbles tickle Brendon's arms, and then Brendon murmurs another "I love you" into Patrick's skin.

Patrick tilts his head back and draws up his legs, curling up best as he can while in a bathtub into Brendon's embrace. "I love you too." Brendon can't say the words enough; he needs to tell Patrick he loves him like he needs to breathe.

"Never again," Brendon promises. "I'll never be such a dick again."

"Good," Patrick murmurs. "Because I don't think I could handle it if you were."

They sit in comfortable silence while the tub finishes filling—the water is hot, really hot, but Brendon learned long ago that scalding is the way to go, because it might be ages before they get out and no one wants a cold bath—and Brendon runs soothing hands over Patrick's skin, wiping away the grime and the scent of sex and leaving it fresh and clean. Patrick returns the favor, although as he's in the front it's a little more difficult for him, and they might get distracted kissing somewhere along the way.

When the water is finished, Patrick leans forward to twist the tap. The bathroom falls into silence, the only sound the soft splish of water as Patrick leans back into Brendon's chest, the sigh Patrick lets out as he blows bubbles off his face and closes his eyes. Brendon doesn't say 'I love you' then because he doesn't need to. The silence and the heartbeat Brendon can feel pulsing beneath Patrick's skin is enough. Patrick is so still in his arms, breaths deep. He's fallen asleep.

Brendon smiles, running a hand over Patrick's hair. Eventually, his eyes drift shut too.

* * *

Brendon wakes to Patrick shifting and pulling out of his embrace. His first thought is that he doesn't want to get out of the bath, where is Patrick going? His second is hey, where did all the bubbles go? And his third is "Fuck the water's cold."

"Yeah," Patrick sasses, clambering out of the tub and pulling the plug from the drain. "That's what happens when you fall asleep in it for two hours."

Brendon groans and heaves himself out of the water, wobbly and still half-asleep. Water runs off his skin in rivulets, dripping from his legs to the floor, and Patrick chucks a towel at him. "Dry off before you slip and fall."

Brendon catches the towel and dries off, making a show of shimmying his hips and doing some sort of weird movement that's meant to be a parody of a sexy dance until Patrick is leaning against the counter and laughing, hand splayed out across his stomach. "Like what you see?" Brendon asks coyly, sauntering up to Patrick and swinging his towel.

Going still, Patrick meets Brendon's eyes with a steady gaze and softly says, "Yes."

Brendon feels arousal start to tug at his stomach again. "Patrick..."

"But it would work better if you weren't all wrinkly and old-looking," Patrick adds, smiling.

Brendon scoffs. "I am not _old-looking_." But he looks down at the pads of his finger, the palms of his hands, and has to admit he _is_ very wrinkly.

"Let's go to bed," Patrick murmurs, kissing Brendon's cheek and catching the corner of his mouth.

"Um," Brendon says eloquently, following Patrick back into the bedroom and flicking off the bathroom light. "What kind of bed? We talking the boring sleepy stuff or the sexy-time fun stuff?"

Patrick trails his his fingers over Brendon's bare chest, fingernails scraping lightly, and Brendon shivers. "What do you think?"

"Well," Brendon swallows, trying not to get his hopes—and consequently, his dick—up. "With you I never know. You're very hard to read, and you're an _unbearable_ teas—"

Patrick shuts him up with a dirty kiss. "Now what do you think?"

"I think," Brendon gasps, "that I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Damn right you are," Patrick growls, pushing Brendon back on the bed and straddling his waist, lips locked together. Patrick shoves Brendon's chest down, until he can't move, and nips at his neck, his chest, sucks wetly at a nipple.

Brendon whines, writhing under Patrick's attentive mouth, and reaches up to grab his hips. Patrick bats his hands away and pins down his wrists, eyes dark and breathing heavy. "Sorry baby, but I'm in charge right now."

"Oh my god," Brendon groans, shifting his hips to try and get _any_ contact. He's definitely hard now. "That's so hot."

Patrick grins smugly. "You know it."

Patrick moves so that he can hold both of Brendon's arms down with one hand, then licks lewdly at his hand to slick it up. He shifts his hips up until his dick is rubbing against Brendon's and then takes them both in hand and starts to slowly stroke, his hand moving maddeningly snail-like. Brendon can't help the little whimpers that fall past his lips. "Patrick—"

"What's wrong baby?" Patrick asks, faux innocent. He rolls his hips forward and tosses his head back, smile gracing his pink lips. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Brendon's arm jerks of its own volition, and Patrick stops the movement of his hand, tutting. "Now now, Bren, you're just supposed to lay there and let me do everything. I'm in charge, remember?"

"Yes," Brendon gasps, willing to let Patrick do whatever he wants to him, "yes, fuck, Patrick, please, _Patrick_."

Patrick's grin is coquettish. "Please what?"

"Just—can we get down to the sex part now?" Brendon pleads. He doesn't care that he sounds desperate, he's turned on and Patrick is sitting on top of him and they're both very much naked. He would really like for there to be some fucking sometime soon.

"You told me," Patrick murmurs, leaning down to trail hot kisses on Brendon's skin; they ignite with electricity wherever his lips graze, "that I was an unbearable tease. I do believe I have a reputation to uphold."

" _Patrick_ ," Brendon whines, and Patrick giggles— _giggles!_ —at him.

"You're cute when you're desperate," he teases. His expression goes more serious, his voice taking on a darker color. "If I let go of you, do you promise to just lay there for a bit?"

"Yes," Brendon promises swiftly. "Yes, whatever you want."

Patrick levels him with an appraising look and then releases his wrists. Brendon's fingers twitch, but he manages to keep himself still and not attempt to tackle the red-blond sitting on him. Sucking his fingers back into his mouth, Patrick uses his newly freed hand to rub at Brendon's cock again, until Brendon is shaking with the effort it takes not to move. "Pat-rick," Brendon chokes, voice cracking.

Patrick merely hums in reply, finally pulling his hand out of his mouth and letting go of Brendon's dick. "Be patient," he chastises, then crawls mostly off of Brendon to snatch another condom from the nightstand. Clambering back into positions and setting the condom to the side, Patrick twists his arm around behind himself. The blissed-out expression on his face a few seconds later has an impatient whine bubbling up in Brendon's throat that he's only just able to suppress. The little fucker is fingering himself open, while he sits on top of Brendon, very much ignoring the achingly hard dick underneath him.

Gripping Brendon's hip with his other hand to steady himself, Patrick lifts himself slightly, getting a better angle. He gasps, tongue darting out to wet obscenely parted lips, and Brendon groans in frustration. He knows that look, knows _exactly_ how many fingers that means (three, the asshole, those should be _Brendon's_ fingers), knows that he's enjoying teasing Brendon way too much.

After what feels like forever, when Brendon has pretty much decided that he's going to mutiny and flip Patrick over and fuck him senseless, when Patrick's legs are shaking with the effort of keeping himself in the right position, Patrick pulls his fingers out. He reaches for Brendon's leaking cock, stroking it a few times and rubbing at the precum beading at the tip. He pauses to tear open the condom and rolls it maddeningly slowly onto Brendon's dick, definitely moving his hand over it more than is necessary. He spits on his hand and then spreads it over Brendon's cock, twisting and squeezing just the way Brendon likes it, slicking it up, then lifts himself higher in the air and lines up Brendon's dick with his ass.

Brendon holds his breath as Patrick sinks slowly down onto him. Patrick inches down Brendon's dick, and his ass is almost resting on Brendon's thighs when Brendon can't help it any longer. His hips jerk up, pushing himself the last bit inside Patrick, who gasps at the unexpected movement. "I thought I told you," Patrick grunts, fighting to relax, "to stay still?"

"Sorry," Brendon pants, "sorry, I couldn't—I couldn't help it."

Patrick makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. "Maybe you should try harder."

Brendon groans when Patrick rolls his hips, fingers fisting in the sheets. "Patrick, oh my _god._ "

When Patrick starts to properly ride Brendon, pulling out _all_ the stops, it's nearly too much to handle. He's beautiful, gorgeous, exquisite, head thrown back and chest heaving and hand working steadily on his own dick. Patrick moans, choking on Brendon's name, and Brendon has to use every ounce of willpower he has not to make a grab for Patrick. He knows that if he does, the red-blonde will just sit there and probably come all over Brendon's chest, then get off without returning the favor—it's dangerous to piss him off during sex.

Patrick alternates his speed, his direction, and soon enough Brendon can't think straight, can't see straight, doesn't have the presence of mind to try to touch Patrick even if he had wanted to. It doesn't take much of this before Brendon feels himself start inching his way closer and closer towards an orgasm, pleasure building in his groin. If Patrick keeps this up (which he might, sometimes Patrick doesn't let Brendon touch at all, does all the work himself—he likes to be in charge), Brendon knows it won't be long before he comes—Patrick is _very_ good at sex.

Much too soon— _Patrick what the fuck you were on a roll_ —Patrick stills his body, breathing heavy. He looks like something straight out of one of Brendon's best wet dreams, sweaty and spectacular. "Don't...move," Patrick pants, bracing himself against Brendon's chest. "Not...yet."

"When?" Brendon asks breathlessly. "Patrick, fuck _,_ what are you— _fuck._ "

Patrick is pulling off slowly, legs weak and tired. "Trust me," he reassures Brendon. "Don't move. Trust me." He throws one leg over Brendon, and then the other, so that he's facing the opposite direction, then raises himself back up and eases down on Brendon's achingly hard cock again, still breathing heavy with excitement, arousal, and exertion in equal measures.

Brendon whines at this change of events. Patrick is probably just going to push him all the way to the edge and then pull him back from it, teasing him mercilessly until he's out of his mind. And the view of Patrick's back and ass might be nice, but it's honestly nothing compared to—

" _Oh!_ " Brendon cries, "fucking fuck, Patrick, _fuck!_ "

"You like that?" Patrick asks, looking over his shoulder coyly, he twists his finger again, finding a new angle, and Brendon's hips stutter of their own accord. He's practically writhing under Patrick's firm weight, pathetic and needy noises escaping his lips. Patrick doesn't—they don't usually—Brendon's not extremely used to having fingers in his ass, so when shit like _this_ happens, with Patrick rubbing gently at his prostate and Patrick's ass squeezing around Brendon's dick, it's a little bit—a lot bit—of sensory overload.

Patrick inserts a second finger, the intrusion unexpected, and Brendon yelps, one of his legs drawing partially up. "You didn't answer," Patrick says, voice much too conversational to be riding Brendon and have his fingers in his ass at the same time. He twists and scissors the digits, and Brendon goes dizzy with pleasure. "Do you like that?"

" _Yes_ ," Brendon blurts. "God, fuck, yes. I— _fuck!_ " Words fail him and he resorts to high pitched moans to try to convey his emotions.

Patrick chuckles. "That's what I thought," he says, adding a third finger and rubbing right up against Brendon's prostate with what feels like all three of them at once.

Brendon can't take it anymore. He just can't. So when Patrick leans slightly forward to get a better angle, Brendon grabs at the opportunity. He lunges upward, pushing Patrick forward and onto his stomach, struggling to get their legs situated and out of the way and in the right positions. He can't quite do it without pulling out again, but Brendon pushes back in quickly, this time the one to hold Patrick down. He leans down to growl in his ear, "How do you like it now?"

Patrick laughs, surprising him. "You lasted longer than I thought you would, honestly. Good job."

Brendon beams at the praise, but it's not long before his dick reminds him why he did this in the first place. Brendon pulls mostly out of Patrick's ass, hands gripping his hips firmly, and then slams his way back in. Enough with being gentle and slow. Enough with the teasing. Brendon is ready to get down to some serious fucking.

Patrick seems to share the sentiment, if the noises he's making are any indication. "Ah, Brendon, fuck, yes, ah–ah– _ah_ , yes, harder, fuck."

Brendon doesn't hesitate to do as asked, shoving his cock in and out at Patrick's ass at an increasingly frantic pace. Patrick is whining and keening beneath him, and it's not long before Brendon's movements become uncoordinated and sloppy, the bed rocking beneath them. "Patrick," Brendon says, because he can, because he loves saying his name, "Patrick." He leans down to dig his teeth into Patrick's shoulder, then his neck, biting harder than is probably necessary.

"Fuck, Bren," Patrick whines, turning his head to the side to make it easier to breathe; his face had been pressed a little uncomfortably into the pillows. "Bren."

"I love you," Brendon exclaims, overwhelmed with how lucky he is to have this, to have him, to have a second chance.

"I l-love you t-too," Patrick stutters. It's hard for him to make a coherent sentence when he's being fucked senseless.

That's all Brendon needs, and he feels himself tip over the edge, muscles tightening as he comes. He takes a huge breath, Patrick's ass still flexing around him. "Fuck," Brendon hisses. He takes a moment to regain his breath.

"Fuck," Patrick agrees, rolling over after Brendon pulls out and tosses the condom.

Without being asked, Brendon takes up Patrick's dick in his hand and starts moving it, squeezing when he gets to the tip and cupping his balls with his other hand. Patrick follows Brendon not long after, his come spurting over his stomach and Brendon's hands, voice strained and garbled.

Brendon wipes his hands on the sheets—Patrick will bitch at him later for that, but he can't give a shit right now—and flops down next to Patrick. Brendon listens to their breathing even out, until Patrick's is slow and relaxed again.

Patrick rolls over on his side, and Brendon does the same, so that they're facing each other. Patrick reaches out to press his shaking fingertips, tired from exertion, to Brendon's chest. "I love you," he says.

Brendon places his hand over Patrick's. "I love you too."

Patrick closes his eyes. "I'm really glad I'm back."

"Me too," Brendon admits.

"Let's never fight again," Patrick mumbles, snuggling closer.

"I dunno," Brendon teases, "if the makeup sex is going to be that great every time..."

Patrick smacks him on the arm, but there's no real force behind the motion. "Shut the fuck up."

"But I agree with you," Brendon says eventually. "I never want to go through that again." He wraps his arm around Patrick's waist, pulls him close.

Patrick tucks his head in under Brendon's chin, breaths getting deeper and slower as he falls into a post-orgasmic sleep. "M'neither."

Letting his eyes fall shut as well, Brendon smiles. He has Patrick back, when he thought he might never get to hold him again. And now that he does...he's never letting go. Brendon tightens his grip around the already sleeping Patrick and then let's himself drift into unconsciousness as well. Even though they spent the evening together, even though he's back and Brendon spends all his waking moments thinking of him anyway, he still dreams of the only person worth dreaming about. He dreams of Patrick.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you liked it!  Honestly, this thing wouldn't have been written at all if my friend hadn't kILLED me with the idea of them taking a post-sex bath together, so thanks to him for coming up with that. :') Please, tell me what you think.  I thrive on comments!


End file.
